Stockholm Syndrome
by Batatinha
Summary: Genevieve, an ambitious, yet slightly obsessive intern, takes on the daunting Arkham Asylum and the demented minds within. However, she finds herself abrubtly thrust into a horrifying situation that eventually forces her to question her own sanity.
1. A Peculiar Ambition

Genevieve Brown sighed heavily as she dropped the bag of groceries down onto the counter, completely disregarding the fact that the eggs she had purchased were probably more fragile than the landing would allow. She slumped into the wooden seat placed beside the kitchen table and buried her head mournfully into her hands.

Any woman would suspect that something was definitely wrong with this world when a regular trip to the supermarket entailed guaranteed feelings of fear, discomfort, and the need to carry various sharp weapons in a small handbag. But this woman in particular knew that her world wasn't ordinary. Living in Gotham was anything but.

Ever since she set foot into her new apartment, she wondered why she had even decided to move there in the first place. It was small, rodent-infested, and definitely not the ideal place to fall asleep in. However, compared to the rest of her happy neighborhood, it was relatively easy to live with. The streets of the East End were filthy, the people much less than hospitable, and it was nearly impossible to get a decent cab without getting mugged in the process. It was such a dreary and hopeless way to live that all she could do was repeatedly remind herself why she truly was there in the first place-- to carry out her dream.

It was only two months ago that she had graduated from the Opal City University with a diploma in her hand and a smile shining on her face. That day, she left the school stadium with a major in psychology and a huge ambition driving her forward. She was so optimistic back then, so eager to finally be able to pursue her dream of exploring the ominous minds of the infamous Gotham city. Now, every waking moment was a struggle to simply stop herself from breaking down and abandoning her dreams altogether. The only thing that prevented her from throwing it all away was the first step that would lead her down the path she so desperately desired to take. Tomorrow would be her first day working at her dream job. She couldn't wait to set foot into the terrifying and, to her, utterly fascinating, Arkham Asylum.

* * *

Genevieve woke with a groggy start when she heard the loud, obnoxious buzz of her alarm clock. She turned irritably on her hard mattress, trying so desperately to remember why she had decided to wake up so early, much less on an uncomfortable bed in a dank, unfriendly room. The red, glowing numbers on the small panel flashed 5:00 AM, and her eyes widened.

It all flooded back to her in an instant: her new life, her new apartment, and her new job. Arkham. The fresh anticipation of her first day caused her to sit up in her bed instantly, her hand slamming down on her digital clock in a successful attempt to silence it. She climbed out from beneath the thin sheets and eagerly crawled towards the foot of her bed where her new uniform sat, folded, crisp, and clean.

She grabbed the outfit that she had so meticulously taken care of and stood in front of the full length mirror that was bolted to her bedroom door, courtesy of the unsurprisingly sleazy tenant. She quickly removed her pajamas, which were, essentially, a t-shirt and a pair of panties, and began to slip herself into her new employee uniform. She stood still as she slowly buttoned the shirt, savoring the cool feel of the material against her skin. It made her feel professional, like she had already been working there for years. When she finished with the final button, deciding to leave two unfastened for a more casual appearance, she turned to take a good look at herself.

She lifted her eyes, and she saw another pair reflected hazily in the mirror. Large, and a pale, almost grayish shade of blue, her eyes gazed back at her and examined her features carefully. They saw light skin, a nose sprinkled with brown freckles, and a mouth protected by small, peach colored lips. Curtaining her rounded, heart-shaped face was a simple cascade of caramel brown hair, just long enough to barely brush her shoulders. Her eyes wandered down, and she saw her figure clothed in the shockingly white uniform. She smiled as she saw her nametag that was attached to the breast of her shirt. Large black letters spelled "Genevieve Brown", and beneath, in a smaller font, read "Psychiatric Intern". She couldn't help but stand proudly in front of the mirror before she went on to prepare her usual oatmeal.

* * *

With a faint jingle of keys, Genevieve Brown, Arkham's newest intern, locked the door on the way out of her apartment. She made her way down the dark stairwell that led to the bottom of the building, her black flats, which she had bought to match the letters on her nametag, clicked rhythmically with each step. She zoned in on the noise, her unexpected nerves welcoming any mundane distraction.

When she got to her car, a small, rusty, yet endearing piece of work that she inherited from her aunt, she ducked herself through the weathered door and revved the engine to life. She pressed lightly on the pedal, and the vehicle lurched forward from its slightly crooked position in the parking lot. She squeezed the steering wheel tightly. Her journey to what was sure to be her life's calling had begun, and she would do everything in her power to prevent her heart from jumping out of her mouth.

She cruised by the streets of the East End, and was surprised to find herself growing gradually accustomed to it. The dark, sinister windows of the passing buildings and the conspicuous drug dealers wandering the dusty sidewalks almost seemed normal now. Perhaps it was the idea of a brighter future ahead that made her decide that life wasn't so bad after all. Or maybe it was the fact that she was seeing it safely from inside of her car. Either way, her living situation was no longer her concern. All she could concentrate on for the time being was her dream and her dream alone.

She drove for a good half an hour before she reached a stretch of land that definitely had a different feel from the rest of Gotham. As the wheels of her car glided across the pavement, everything around her fell silent as she realized that she was the only car on the road. As she continued to drive, she saw something large and dark in the distance, something that sent chills through her entire being. She drove on, her fingers clenched anxiously around the rubber of the steering wheel once again.

It was more beautiful than she had ever imagined.

She gazed out the window, her eyes wide in wonderment as she drove up towards the massive building. Grey, immense, and utterly frightening, the various walls and windows of Arkham Asylum towered above her like a dark cloud right before a storm. She parked her car in the strangely average parking lot, and hesitantly stepped out from inside the vehicle. She looked up, and she was instantly washed with emotion. Her heart hammered violently against her chest as she was consumed by its menace and enormity, and she felt as if her knees would fail her right then and there. She shivered and willed herself to walk towards the entrance, slowly, but surely, passing the painful looking barbed wire fence whilst doing so.

After what seemed like the longest five minutes of her life, she found the large, metal gates that lead towards the entrance. The intricate pattern shaped by the metal was both lovely and frightening at the same time, and she couldn't help but bite her lip when she saw large letters spell "Arkham Asylum" shaped by the very same metallic bars. She found the voice box off to the side, and she only assumed that she had to introduce herself in order to enter. She pressed her shaking finger to the red button and did her best to swallow her anxiety.

"Um, hello? I'm Genevieve Brown... the new intern?" she removed her finger from the button and cursed inwardly. Could she have sounded more like a fifteen-year-old?

She waited for a response, but none came. Instead, the enormous gates began to part with a loud, creaking screech. She stood still, frozen. When they came to a complete stop with an ear shattering clang, she took a deep breath. This was her life, and she was going to have to face it one way or another. She exhaled and walked through the gates.


	2. An Unsettling Atmosphere

Genevieve twisted the hem of her shirt between her fingers, focusing intently on its smooth texture and the various loose threads that have surfaced along its edge. She had finally walked through the doors into Arkham about eight minutes ago, and she was now waiting, legs crossed anxiously, in the front office. A slight looking man dressed in the same uniform she was wearing had asked her to stay there while he found someone to give her a tour. The man looked tired, worn. He gave her a wary look, as if he couldn't believe she would even consider working in a place like this. Maybe to other people, this would seem like a terrible job. But she wasn't like other people. This was her passion, and she didn't feel like waiting much longer to meet it. She sighed impatiently on the torn seat, and her legs bounced habitually to match her mood.

It wasn't until another agonizing ten minutes that the man returned. Like he said, he brought a guide with him, and her heart caught in her throat. He was tall, middle-aged, and definitely intimidating. It didn't help that his most prominent feature was thick scar that slashed diagonally through the bridge of his nose.

"Jennifer, this is Robert Skelter." The man sounded completely lackluster, and she wondered if he didn't have anything to look forward to. "He'll show you around, tell you what to do." He gave me one last exhaustingly incredulous look, then made his way to sit behind the desk in front of the waiting area, looking down at what she suspected was nothing. She turned towards her guide, deciding to brave his scary appearance with friendliness.

"Hello," she offered her hand to him, glad that she wasn't shaking as much as she was outside of the building. How would she stand a chance against this giant if she was quivering like a Chihuahua? "My name's not actually Jennifer. It's Genevieve. Though, my nickname is Gen, sort of like Jen for Jennifer."

She waited for his hand, and it never came. He stared. She couldn't help but glance down uncomfortably as she lowered her hand awkwardly. Her bad first impression stung her, but she was determined to not let it get her down. She stood there silently, hoping he would say something to break the silence..

"You might want to button the rest of that shirt," he said gruffly. He turned and started walking, and she quickly followed behind him

* * *

Genevieve's chest ached as she took her very first steps into the dim, sinister halls of Arkham Asylum. Her eyes didn't dare wander away from her shoes, and she then wondered why she had made such a trivial fuss about matching them with her uniform. Now that she was actually, truly inside of the haven that was sure to put her miserable life into alignment, every other concern that she once had merely looked like insignificant specs on the plane of her existence.

Skelter, the surly guide who wasn't any less intimidating than the first time she had met him, came to an abrupt halt in front of her. She graciously thanked whoever was out there that she didn't bump into the hulking beast headfirst.

"This is where we keep the nut jobs," he said simply.

His unsettlingly gravelly voice and the words it spoke shook her out of her nervous stupor. This was it. She held her breath and shut her eyes, trying to calm her overexcited nerves. She would finally muster up the courage to face her life, to put all of her fears behind her, and meet what would inevitably be her true love. She slowly raised her eyelids, and her surroundings came into clear focus.

She gasped.

It was more overwhelming than she had anticipated. While she had been walking, it felt to her that she was in one long, lone hallway. In actuality, however, it was much more than that. Much, much more.

Her mouth was held agape, and she found herself spinning in place as she took in her surroundings. The room was enormous, and the very sight of it alone made her feel like she was being plunged into a dark, dismal abyss. Old, worn hallways identical to the one she was currently standing in were stacked repetitively on top of each other, and they stretched upward as far as the eye could see. What was even more frightening was that nearly every inch of the walls of the massive room were covered by metallic doors, their corners dented and flecked with rust. She shivered when she saw that on each door was a small window, allowing anyone to take a passing glimpse into the insanity that was contained within. Genevieve shivered at the thought, from both fear, and, not surprisingly to her, morbid intrigue. Skelter didn't appear to have much patience for her awe, because he began walking again, not bothering to look back and check if she was following him. She had to make a sincere, conscious effort to move from her spot on the dusty ground before she could trail behind him once again.

As she treaded in Skelter's large shadow, she dared herself to glance through the windows of the decayed steel doors, their ominous auras taunting her relentlessly as she passed. She was surprised to feel a wave of relief pass through her when she saw that many of the patients within the rooms looked relatively normal. All wearing the same white clothing, they sat in their rooms, simply existing. Some rocked back and forth in what she could clearly see was paranoia, some quietly talked to themselves, and others not so quietly. Whatever they did, however, they all held the faces of human beings, human beings that have been tampered with, who have just faced unfortunate circumstances in their lives. It was at that moment that the clarity of her cause had hit her, and her ambition drove away any fears she had previously held up until that point.

That is, until she came across room 254.

Genevieve couldn't help but jump back in shock when she saw the two eyes gazing at her intently from behind the bars. While most people would suspect that being stared at by someone in an insane asylum would be enough to send her running, it certainly wasn't. It was his deeply unsettling lack of symmetry, along with his intense gaze, that sent a long, cold shiver down to the base of her spine. She knew who he was the moment her wide, terrified eyes met his.

Two-Face.

Fear flooded her body, and she hastily tore her line of sight away from his unorthodox eyes, doing everything in her power not to look back to see if he was still staring. Skelter must have noticed her reaction, because he let out a booming laugh, his chuckles coarse and cruel.

"He's a favorite around here," he said with a dark smile, clearly amused by her jumpiness. "We always keep an extra special watch on him, but he always finds a way to break out."

She continued walking, her quickened pace causing her to pass the tall man in the gloomy hallway. She didn't say a single word in response. She wished she hadn't heard him say that.

Never, during her brief stay in Gotham did she expect that Two-Face would have such a strong effect on her. Perhaps it was the fact that, in her nervous haze, she completely forgot that she would most likely run into him during her work hours.

Or maybe it was because no one had ever looked at her that way before.

In college, she had studied all about Harvey Dent, mostly by reading articles from various issues of The Gotham Times. The very fact that he, the once kind and honest district attorney of Gotham city, could undergo such a drastic change of personality in one moment of tragedy fascinated her beyond reason. She couldn't help her inquisitive mind from wanting to explore his undoubtedly twisted psyche and discovering what made him tick, what made him decide to give up his life of fighting the good fight. Seeing him in person, however, just made her want to cower. She thought that maybe it was because, after all of these years of wanting to dissect him, she finally had the chance to.

"Slow down, the tour's not over yet," Skelter growled irritably from behind her, his good mood obviously running out. I turned, and I saw him point to a small, metallic box that was attached to the wall. "If someone gives you trouble, just press the button inside here. There's one inside every room, too." He opened it and demonstrated by pressing a meaty index finger to the small, red circle.

"What's the emergency?" a male voice asked from the speaker, his crackling voice dull and empty.

Skelter leaned in so his mouth was near the speaker, his lips cracking into a wide, mean grin. "Except that Sally here is afraid of the big bad Two-Face, nothing much," he said. He flashed me a look that normally would have made me uncomfortable, but his words made my mind too preoccupied to take notice of it.


	3. A Horrifying Surprise

Despite the horrendous buzzing of her alarm clock that would normally send her flying out of bed, Genevieve didn't move. Even after a good five minutes of persistent noise, she still found her head buried in her pillow, her wavy hair plastered all over the faded pink pillowcase. She was determined to stay completely still.

But she couldn't. Like anyone on this earth, she had obligations, and her obligations included eating her breakfast, combing her hair, and going to work. In an insane asylum. An insane asylum full of complete sleazeballs and people who have absolutely nothing to look forward to in life to the point of complete emptiness. She dearly wished that she was talking about the patients.

But, like any person with obligations, she felt the need to carry them out. She didn't take this job for them; she took it for all of the damaged minds that desperately needed attention and understanding. She now realized that they weren't going to get either of those things from the type of people who usually worked among them. That's why it was her job to bring some real compassion and trust to the tortured souls of Arkham.

After that energizing thought, she yawned loudly and hit the snooze button of her clock with much less gusto than the previous morning, then forced herself to roll out of bed unceremoniously onto the floor.

She proceeded to dress into her uniform, which was now slightly crinkled from a lack of a good folding job. After she finished buttoning her shirt, completely this time, she went to the bathroom and reached out her hand to pull open the mirrored cabinet in order to get her toothbrush. When her hand finally touched the mirror, however, it froze on its edge, and she stared at the face before her.

Freckled, round, and familiar, her own face stared back at her through tired eyes, her dark caramel hair sprouting out in every direction. What made her pause wasn't the fact that her appearance was especially disheveled and sweaty that morning, but that her face was so completely and utterly symmetrical. She shuddered and made a grab for her toothbrush, leaving the bathroom while she scrubbed her teeth with unnecessary vigor. She didn't need to think about him. She wouldn't.

After she ran a comb through her wild hair a few dozen times, she went to her kitchen, grabbed a banana, and was out the door.

Maybe she would just avoid the 200s wing today.

* * *

When she arrived at Arkham on her second day as an intern, she tried especially hard to not let the menacing appearance of the building overpower her this time around. Today, she knew what she was up against. Today would be the first day that she would be able to talk with a patient, one-on-one. It was officially her chance to shine.

She walked through the gates, without hesitation this time, and made her way through the doors of the front office. She nodded at the slight man, and he nodded back, his eyes wider than usual. She figured he didn't expect her to come back after one day in Arkham, as if she couldn't handle it. She was going to prove him wrong. She was going to prove them all wrong.

"Here," the man said, handing her a manila folder with a key attached to it. "Your first session. Good luck." It sounded more doubtful than supportive.

"Thanks," she said while showing her utmost confidence by wearing a bright beam on her face. He stared, incredulous as usual.

She walked out of the room with a flourish, and decided to brave the intense halls that unsettled her so much the day before. Before stepping any further from the door, she opened the file and looked inside, curious to see what she was coming up against. In the file was a photo of a young man, perhaps in his twenties, who was smiling brightly with a goofy checkered bow tie wrapped around his neck. She smiled softly at the image, but couldn't help but feel sad at the same time. Every photo she'll see within these files will be of people who were, perhaps, once in their right mind. She shook the thought out of her head warily and took to examining the papers that were paper clipped to the photo. Schizophrenia. Paranoia. Psychology 101. This would be a piece of cake.

She closed the orange folder and remembered the key that was handed to her with it. She held it in her hand and examined it, and realized that there was a room number on it.

278.

She cringed inwardly, squeezing the key in her closed fist. She wasn't even going to acknowledge that thought.

Genevieve inhaled deeply, regained her professional composure, and tucked the folder beneath her arm. She began to walk, and the click of her shoes sounded loud in the immense, eerily silent room. She kept walking, all the way down to room 250, then paused. She took another deep breath, then kept on walking, not bothering to look inside any of the windows. She thought she heard a faint laugh from inside one of the rooms.

When she finally reached room 278, she put her best soothing face on, then turned the key in the lock. She pulled the door open with a loud creak, and stepped inside.

"Hello there, I'm Genevieve Brown and I-" she froze mid-sentence, and her eyes widened in horror.

"Hello there," the man said, his eyes wild, his hair green, and his toothy grin large and menacing. "Do you mind if I call you Gennie?"

She heard the door slam behind her with a deafening thud. She gaped, and she realized with horror that she had left the key in the lock.


	4. A Stressful Situation

Genevieve backed away slowly towards the door, and she found herself having a difficult time blinking. She couldn't figure out how this could have happened, how she could have possibly ended up in _his_ room instead of her assigned one. She would have thought of it as a sick joke, but a wrenching feeling in her gut told her that the wording of that particular phrase was probably not the most comforting during a time like this.

"H-hello, Mr. Joker," she said, trying her best to make her voice sound as normal as possible. It wouldn't make a difference if the Joker could smell fear—it was written all over her.

"Call me Mr. J," he said with a suspiciously friendly tone to his voice. He remained seated on his bed, his stark-white hands folded politely on his lap.

"Um, I'm sorry, I-I must have come into the wrong room…" she sputtered anxiously, trying to subtly reach for the metal box behind her. For the first time during her two days at Arkham, she was thankful that Skelter had opened his mouth.

He got up in a flash and pressed his hand against the shockingly white wall, his arm blocking her from the task of pressing the button for help. She bit her lip as the tall man lowered his head so it was level with hers, pressing her against the wall, his bleached-white face too close for comfort.

"Oh, don't leave so soon!" he said, his voice suddenly high-pitched and disappointed. She felt a fresh stab of fear hit her straight in the chest as his already disturbingly large smile grew even wider. His voice quickly adopted a more scolding tone. "Don't you want to know what I'm thinking? You _are_ supposed to be a shrink, you know."

Genevieve didn't want to know what was he was thinking; all she wanted to do was get out of there and run away as far as her wobbling legs would allow. But something about his tone was so chilling, so inevitably threatening, that she felt like she had no other choice but to inquire what was on the mind of this utterly insane man.

"W-what are you thinking?" she asked, her voice merely reduced to a weak, trembling whisper. He paused, and his wide grin suddenly turned into a leer. She felt her stomach grow weak as his bright green eyes bore into her own. He leaned in even further, the wall preventing her from evading the strong lack of personal space.

"Just how much," he whispered quietly into her ear, a long finger brushing against her cheek, "you remind me of a young Harleen Quinzel."

His finger slipped off of her cheek lazily, heat replacing its presence on her skin immediately after. She stood there, frozen. She just wanted nothing but to melt there right on the spot so she wouldn't have to endure this torture anymore. Being cornered by the Joker in a small, locked room while he compared her to his long-time lover was not how she wanted to spend her day. She was completely aware that he was just trying to make her uncomfortable, playing with her fears, and enjoying the reaction thoroughly like the sick psychopath he was. He was certainly succeeding in his efforts.

"Did I see a blush?" he asked loudly, his voice now frightfully gleeful. Genevieve looked down, because she feared that looking at him for another second would give her a heart attack. She felt weak. She hated how this man could reduce her to nothing but an empty shell of fear, making her incapable of coherent words and any kind of assertion. But she supposed that was the effect he had on most people. There was a reason why he was the most feared man in Gotham.

"Well," he said, his hand now wrapping around her neck delicately, "I wonder what the rest of your lovely face would look like just as red." She gasped, and his hand squeezed her neck fiercely. She reeled at the pain, and her knee came in hard contact with his crotch. He let go of her neck and growled, falling onto the floor in pain. She immediately ran to the metal door and pounded on it profusely.

"Somebody help me!" she screamed as loudly as she could, her voice still hoarse from the Joker's crushing grip. "Please, somebody! Please!"

She screamed again as she felt a hand clutch around her ankle, which only made her slam her fists against the door even harder. She then felt him yank abruptly on her leg, and she stumbled, hitting the ground with a painful thud. His loud, raucous laughter filled her ears, and she couldn't help but pray during what she was sure to be her last living moments.

Then she heard another noise. She looked up, and a cold, bitter burst of relief flowed through her as she saw the open door to the room. Skelter was standing there with a taser in hand, his expression peculiarly neutral. He charged forward and pressed the small device to the Joker's wrist, and the green-haired man yelled out in pain, releasing Genevieve from his clutch once again. She scrambled to her feet and made a dash towards the door, not looking behind her as she ran as fast as her legs would possibly allow her.

* * *

Genevieve quickly grabbed her purse from her employee locker and immediately began to make her way towards the women's restroom. When she entered the bathroom, she hastily slammed the door of the stall behind her and dropped down onto her knees. With a cry, she heaved whatever contents her stomach held into the toilet. When she finished, she sat down on the tiled floor beneath her and wiped the tears of strain and horror from beneath her red eyes.

She didn't understand what had gone wrong. She couldn't fathom why the first two days of her new life happened to be the worst two days of her entire life. She just wanted to help the helpless, to examine the truly fascinating, and to live the rest of her life happily working at the job of her dreams. Instead, she met very unfriendly people who probably have very unfriendly intentions, and was locked in a room with the most renowned serial killer in all of Gotham. All she wanted to do now was to go to her home in Opal City and see her aunt again, the only family she had, and the only person she loved; but she was stuck in this absolute Hellhole of a city, and she had nowhere to go but her small, unwelcome apartment. A quiver from her lip and a fresh stream of tears told her that leaving this horror of a building and going home to that very place would not be a terribly bad idea.

She wiped her mouth with a piece of toilet paper and headed out the door, not before splashing a handful of cold water on her clammy face. If she was going to cower all the way home, she at least didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of her tears.

She walked quickly through the dark halls, avoiding looking into any of the rooms completely. She didn't even think twice about the 200s wing when she passed it; her only concern was getting out of there, going home, and dealing with her emotions in a more private environment. Once she got to the front-office, she approached the slight man, attempting to disguise her anguish with nausea.

"I think I'm going to head home a little early today… I'm feeling really terrible right now." She pressed a hand to a stomach for effect. He looked at her disbelievingly, then nodded once.

"Get some rest," he said. He then looked down and resumed writing whatever it was he was working on. She sighed and left the office, the fresh air hitting her face and calming her nerves slightly. She stumbled wearily towards her car, pulled her keys out of her pocket, and began the long drive home.

When Genevieve arrived at her apartment, the very first thing she did was collapse heavily onto her bed. Her life had just shattered before her, and she didn't want to have to deal with any obligations or problems whatsoever. All she wanted to do was lie there, away from reality, away from fear.

She rested there quietly for what felt like ages, until she felt herself drift into an exhausted sleep. She slept for about six hours before the sound of her house phone broke her out of her long, empty, meaningless dreams. She lifted herself up off the bed slowly and made her way towards the kitchen, her feet dragging morosely as she did so. When she finally got to the phone, she answered it, the cord wrapping around her arm as she leaned warily against the counter.

"Who is it?" she asked, a little irritated that her sleep was being interrupted. Out of all the times someone could have called her, why did it have to be tonight?

"Sweetie, it's me, Elaine," the voice coming out of the receiver said, its tone warm and unexpectedly familiar. "Are you alright? You don't sound so good."

Her aunt. She didn't know whether to feel happy about hearing her voice or miserable that she wasn't there with her; but either way, her lip started to tremble, and she began to sob into the phone. She cried to her about the last two days, and the woman on the other end of the line remained completely silent as she did so. After she finished recounting what happened after she had her meeting with the Joker, Elaine finally spoke, and she sounded afraid.

"I knew moving there would be a terrible idea," she began, her voice urgent. "You should come home right now. I don't like knowing that you're in that horrible city when I can't get a hold of you."

"What do you mean?" Genevieve asked, her tears slowly subsiding with confusion. "You haven't tried contacting me before tonight."

"That's not true. I called your cell at least three times today."

Genevieve froze. She had forgotten her cell phone at Arkham. Not just her cell phone, but her credit card, her money, and her driver's license. She must have left her purse in the bathroom stall after she had vomited, too shaken up to even notice that she had forgotten it.

"Shit," she whispered to herself.

"What was that? Is something wrong, sweetheart?" Elaine asked, concerned.

"It's nothing," she lied. She didn't want to add on to her aunt's concern. "Thank you so much for calling, it was really, really great to hear your voice again." Genevieve truly meant it. She had been so lonely in Gotham that it was almost surreal to be talking to someone who wasn't out to make her life miserable.

"Of course. Please, come back home. You can stay with me, and we can find some place else for you—somewhere back in Opal City, where you belong." Warmth flooded through Genevieve. Her aunt's words eased the pain in her chest, and she seriously considered her words. As upset as she was, she wasn't entirely sure if she should give up on Gotham, but the offer was undeniably tempting.

"I love you, honey. Take care," Elaine said, stressing the last sentence with pure sincerity.

"You too," Genevieve responded, her voice soft. She hung up the phone and sighed warily, pondering what her next move should be. It was a Friday, so she didn't have work tomorrow, and she definitely couldn't go without her purse for an entire weekend, especially when she knew that it was abandoned at Arkham. She didn't expect that it would be exactly safe out in the open in a restroom, even if it was just for employee use. For all she knew, it could have been stolen by now, someone already adopting her identity and buying large meals and fancy jewelry with her long-time savings. She groaned angrily, grabbed her coat, and headed towards the door of her apartment. She wasn't tired at all, so she might as well pick up her purse before it got swiped, assuming it hadn't been already.

The cold night air sent a shiver down her spine as she climbed into her car. She had a feeling that going back wasn't going to do well to her mood and comfort, especially after the terrifying ordeal she had gone through earlier that day. But she wouldn't be inside a cell anymore, and that thought comforted her somewhat as she turned her key in the ignition.


	5. A Scary Drive

Genevieve failed to absorb the thought that she was driving back to Arkham. Not only that, but she was driving there at a quarter to midnight, without a cell phone, and in one of the most dangerous cities she could possibly think of. She attempted to fill the eerie silence of the road by turning on the radio, and then began to question just how valuable her wallet actually was to her.

As she drove through the East End, she realized that she'd never once driven at night since arriving in Gotham. Her previous fears were confirmed as she passed what seemed like double the amount of shady people on the sidewalks, some of which deciding to wave at her or made lewd gestures. She slammed her hand on her car's horn and made a rude gesture of her own as she passed. She wasn't in the mood for fear, nor was she in the mood to deal with the usual crap that this city frequently threw at her.

When she finally arrived at the long, desolate road that led to Arkham, fear, which she had certainly had enough of, enveloped her body instantly.

And she thought it was frightening in the daylight.

She stopped her car in the ominously dark parking lot, and paused with her hand on the door. It was dark. Really dark. She shook her head and quickly broke herself out of her paralyzing fear. There was nothing to be afraid of. All of the deranged killers were locked inside, and there was absolutely no way for them to get out. Besides, hadn't she gotten over her fear of the dark when she was seven years old? She laughed to herself half-heartedly.

She finally decided to step out of the car, and faced the night's darkness alongside of the massive building. She took a deep breath and began to walk, telling herself that it was exactly the same walk she took during the day; the only difference was that it was just a whole lot more difficult to see where she was going.

When she finally reached the gate, she pressed the button.

"Hi, it's Genevieve Brown. I forgot my purse."

Once again, the gate opened without a word from anyone inside. She walked past the iron doors, keeping an eye out for any suspicious shadows that may be lurking around the poorly maintained bushes. Once she got to the front door, she pulled out her employee key and turned it a bit too quickly in the lock.

The front office was dark. Because of the late hour, there was no need for anyone to be working there, so she fumbled for the light switch. Once she found it and flicked it on, she made her way towards the door to the large, intimidating cell room. Why she had decided to use the bathroom in there was beyond her, but she supposed she didn't have much of a choice with her breakfast halfway up her throat.

When she walked through the door, everything was dark. Menacing shadows were cast all around the circular room, the small windows on the metallic doors completely pitch-black. She figured that the lights shouldn't be completely off, just in the off-chance that someone in a room would need help of some sort. She snorted at the thought. They all needed help.

As she headed towards the restroom, she could hear various whispers from all around the room. The noises sent a slight shiver down her spine, and she found herself speed-walking until she found the door to the women's restroom.

She flicked on the lights and scanned the room for her purse. When her eyes traveled down, she saw a sliver of brown leather beneath one of the stalls, and a wave of relief hit her. Her money and her identity were safe. She reached down beneath the stall door and grabbed it by the strap, then opened it to make sure that everything important was in there. Her cell phone, wallet, and various knick-knacks were still in their messy order. She smiled warily and flipped open the top to her cell phone, finding all of her missed calls from her aunt. Never again would she let her purse leave her sight. She'd had enough stress for a lifetime.

She securely placed her phone in a pocket within her purse, and then hitched it over her shoulder. If she had decided to go back home to her aunt, tonight would be her last night at Arkham. However, she still had a dream to pursue, and a little scare wasn't going to stop that. For the time being, though she would go home, sleep, and enjoy her weekend as much as she possibly could before setting another foot in the asylum.

When Genevieve pressed open the bathroom door with her fingers, she froze. She heard voices; not from inside of any of the rooms, but from outside. She shrugged out of her hesitation and walked through the door. This was an asylum, after all. Of course other employees would be wandering about, tending to patients who needed attention.

When she continued walking, however, she saw two dark shapes in the distance, blocking her way towards the room's exit. She realized that the source of noise was coming from them, and she found herself still again, wondering if she should really dare pass the mysterious figures. She walked a little closer, and she strained her ears in order to hear what they were saying.

"…Don't worry; I've got a car out back. No one's gonna catch us if we take the emergency exit."

She felt a crease form on her forehead. She recognized that deep, gravelly voice all too well. What was Skelter doing so late out of his shift, and what was he up to? Her curiosity dominated her fear for a moment as she continued to eavesdrop.

"Fine," said a much smoother, yet undeniably harsh voice. "But if we _do_ get caught..."

She saw the silhouette of the man hold something up in his palm, and she could have sworn she saw Skelter shudder.

"You won't be needing that," Skelter said hastily. "You'll be fine." He sounded genuinely nervous, to Genevieve's amazement. She never thought such a concept was possible.

Skelter began walking towards her. She froze, and he paused to turn around to the man behind him. "C'mon, Harv, I didn't break you out of your cell for nothin'."

"Don't call me that," the man snarled. Her eyes widened as she saw him flip the object in his hand into the air.

A coin.

Genevieve covered her mouth in order to prevent herself from gasping. Two-Face. He was free. She didn't even realize she was in the 200s wing, and she didn't even grasp from the conversation that Skelter was assisting a break out. Her survival instincts told her to back away slowly into the dark and to get back to the restroom as quickly as possible. There she could hide inside one of the stalls, call the police, and wait until things blew over. There was no way she was going to let this go under her nose, and there was no way she was going to get caught in the middle of it, either.

She slowly began to take a few steps backward, trying to be utterly silent as if her life depended on it. She swallowed hard. Her life probably _did_ depend on it.

Then her cell phone began to ring.


	6. An Annoying Ringtone

Genevieve's eyes widened in pure horror as she heard her inappropriately jolly ring tone blare loudly from within her purse. The sound echoed painfully off the walls as she frantically tried to get her phone from the bag, cursing at herself for putting it in one of the zipped pockets.

"Who's there?" Skelter called out, his voice deep and threatening. She glanced up quickly and saw the large silhouette of the man walking towards her. Unadulterated fear took hold of her at the sight, and she sprinted towards the restroom, shutting the door behind her as softly as she could with her shaking hands. She then opened a stall and ducked onto a toilet, making sure that her feet wouldn't be visible from the outside. She had already managed to turn off her phone, but a sinking, devastating feeling in her chest told her that she wasn't safe. She was far from.

It wasn't long before she heard the door open with much bravado, the back of it hitting the tiled wall with a loud, unpleasant sound.

"Don't even bother hiding," Skelter said loudly, his footsteps growing as he stepped nearer. "If you don't come out now, I'll just find you myself, and I promise you…," he paused, and he kicked her stall open. He didn't finish his previous sentence, and she could see shock on his eyes.

She prayed. Maybe, just maybe this heartless man would find some place in his heart to let her go, to let her off with a warning. Hell, she'd even take a death threat, as long as she wouldn't have to suffer whatever consequence he may be considering. She couldn't move, and she could feel her heart trying to pound its way through her ribcage.

The man's frown turned into a grin, and his cruel eyes held a look that told her that her prayers would go unanswered.

Skelter held her none too gently by her arm as he dragged her out of the restroom. His grip was too powerful for her to squeeze out of, so instead of prying herself free, she only managed to hurt herself in the process. She resorted to the next best thing, which was to scream at the top of her lungs. She opened her mouth wide to yell, but before she could get more than two seconds of noise out of her mouth, she felt something cold and metallic press against the side of her head. She immediately shut her mouth.

Genevieve had no idea what was in store for her as the man pushed her towards Two-Face. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. She wondered if she should be repenting for her sins or writhing viciously just to end the excruciating suspense. Whatever she wanted to do completely left her mind, however, as she looked up into the eyes of the other man that was now standing in front of her.

He looked down at her critically, a spark of recognition marring his deformed features in the darkness. She was glad that she could barely see him, because if she could, she may have just passed out right at his feet. The thought actually sounded more appealing to her the more she thought about it. At least she wouldn't be afraid.

"Look what I found," Skelter said seedily, his eyes running over her a bit too much for comfort. "What should we do with the bitch?" She shook violently against his grip once more in a desperate attempt to escape. She knew her efforts were hopeless, however, as she felt the gun jab her head sharply. She whimpered at the pain and stood still on her feet.

"Don't call her that," Two-Face said mildly. This took her by surprise. Maybe _he_ would take mercy on her. It was incredibly unlikely, but she wouldn't put it past the former Harvey Dent to do such a thing. Then again, he wasn't exactly Harvey Dent.

"Just take her with us," he said nonchalantly, his back turning to walk down the hall. "I'll deal with her later."

Her heart hit the bottom of her stomach, and warm tears began to well in her eyes.

She was completely silent in the back seat of the car as its engine roared to life. She didn't know what Two-Face had in store for her, but she really wasn't curious enough to stick around and find out. She silently flipped open the cell phone inside of her purse with trembling hands and attempted to send a message to the police department through a text message, her fingers working quietly as she typed. She gasped as a hand yanked her purse away from her.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to get rid of this," Two-Face said, his voice half apologetic, half irritated. He reached into her purse and launched the phone out of the passenger seat window, and she winced when she heard it crunch against the pavement. He handed the bag back to her, and she refused to take it. He shrugged and dropped it on the floor in front of her, then resumed his task of watching the road.

She felt helpless, and she was almost positive that there was no hope for her. She was stuck in a car with two men who were much stronger than her, one of them being one of the most notorious criminals in all of Gotham. On top of that, she had absolutely no means of communication or protection. What hope did she possible have? She couldn't bear the anxiety, and, with a burst of courage, decided to speak for the first time.

"What are you going to do with me?" she whispered, her voice coming out quieter than she had hoped. She wanted to sound assertive, not timid. All she could hope for now was the pity card, but somehow she doubted it would take her anywhere.

"So she finally talks!" Skelter laughed from the driver's seat, his voice amused. "I was wondering when you'd open your pretty lips again." Now that they were out of a working environment, he didn't seem to bother holding back on the sleaze.

She thought she saw Two-Face's good eye glancing towards Skelter irritably in the rear-view mirror.

"What was that?" he asked, his face still facing the windshield. His voice was smooth and completely serious. It made her nervous.

"W-what are you going to do with me?" she said again more loudly, her voice stammering.

"We'll see," was all he said. Nobody spoke again for the rest of the drive.

Genevieve was confused when the battered old car finally came to a halt. She peeked out the smudged window, and didn't see anything at all spectacular. Just a bunch of abandoned, run-down buildings. She guessed that she was being taken to one of those stereotypical thuggish hideouts where she would be threatened, beaten, or worse. She shivered as the two men got out of the car, slamming the door behind them. She hoped that they would forget about her, just leave her in the back seat so she could somehow escape, but her hopes were put out when a meaty hand opened the door next to her.

"C'mon, sweetheart," Skelter said, offering his hand for the taking. She glared at it. If she wasn't so terrified for her life, she would have broken his fingers off and fed them to him. Maybe not, but it didn't hurt to fantasize.

He growled and pulled her by the arm yet again, her bruises from earlier still tender. She didn't even bother attempting to get out of his grasp again. For all she knew, she was headed for a room full of murderous crooks, and running just seemed like a pointless endeavor by that point.

Two-Face waited quietly next to the entrance of a particularly shabby looking building, and as Skelter led her nearer she realized with each heavy step that her fate was about to be revealed. She saw the man pull a coin out of the pocket of his slacks, and perched it on his thumb, waiting. Genevieve wasn't sure what he was going to decide when she got there, but she knew that her options were probably less than fortunate.

A jolt of electricity shot through her being as she saw him remove a gun from beneath his blazer. Well, she knew what one of her possible fates was now. It was then that she decided to thrash against Skelter again, and he grabbed her other arm, pushing her towards the other man violently.

"I'm sorry that it has to be this way," he said softly, pointing the gun to her forehead. She gasped and looked away, her eyes shut and her forehead furrowed in fear. She knew what he was going to do. He was going to flip for her life. Her life against whatever other monstrosity he had in store for her. She felt numb, and she immediately thought about her aunt.

He flipped the silver dollar high into the air with his hand. It felt like minutes before it landed, even though she knew that it was only about a second. He caught it in the same hand that he flipped it with, and looked down to decide her fate.

She let out a deep intake of breath as he lowered the gun, and collapsed onto the floor. Her chest still ached, and she could feel her eyes burning from much-needed tears. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't humiliate herself in front of them, especially after they've seen her horrified to the point of passing out two times too many. She looked up at Two-Face, who quietly pocketed the coin. He offered her his hand, and she slapped it away, a burst of fury coursing through her. How dare he display an act of kindness after pointing a gun directly to her head? It disgusted her, but then she was terrified at her own daring.

"I wouldn't do that," he said lowly, a tinge of danger in his voice, "when I still have this in my hand." He lifted the gun, and she looked away from it. She's seen more than enough of that gun.

"What're you gonna do with her, boss?" Skelter asked, looking down at her with an eager expression in his dark eyes.

"She's going to stay with me," he said simply, turning the handle to the battered door in front of them. Her eyes widened, and Skelter pulled her up yet again, pushing her through the door behind her new captor.


	7. An Overwhelming Home

It took Genevieve a few moments to process Two-Face's words. Stay with him? First he was threatening to blow her head off, and now he was deciding to keep her around? He really was as unpredictable as she had heard, but she couldn't say that she liked this turn of events, regardless of her survival. She desperately wanted to get some answers, but she found herself reluctant to say anything else, especially after her near-death experience.

When she made her way through the door (courtesy of Skelter's excessive pushing), she found herself to be in complete darkness. Before she could even attempt to analyze her surroundings, she received another sharp shove from the large man, and she nearly tripped over what felt to her like a stair step.

"Take it easy," she heard Two-Face say sternly from in front of them. She bit her lip. What did he care if she fell? He was going to doom her anyway; it'd definitely be an easy way to get rid of her without having to consult his coin. She shuddered at her own thoughts. She didn't like thinking this way, but in this situation like this, she couldn't help but be bleak.

After what felt like ten minutes, they finally reached the bottom of the stairwell. She felt the grip loosen around her arms as Skelter decided to finally let her go, and she jerked herself away from his hands aggressively. Normally, she was terrified of him, but for some reason, having Two-Face around made her more daring. It was probably because he seemed just as annoyed by Skelter as she was.

Skelter only laughed at her reaction and ruffled her hair with something akin to twisted affection. She grimaced. Could this man spend a living moment without touching her somehow?

"Well, I'm sure it's not like anything you're used to," she heard Two-Face say, totally disregarding the tense exchange that was just held behind him, "but, regardless… I'd like to welcome you to what I call 'home'." Genevieve held her breath as he opened the door, and she imagined what the next room would have in store for her. If the outside of the building gave her any hint of what the interior looked like, she really didn't want to become acquainted with it. Besides, what she would be seeing next would be where she was going to be held against her will, and finally coming to meet her prison would set her fate in concrete, making it official that all of this was painfully real.

She walked into the room, and the undeniable texture of carpet made itself known beneath her shoes.

"Let me get the lights," Two-face said lightly. She heard a flick, and all of the lights turned on at once, illuminating the large room.

Her lips parted in wonder, yet her fear increased ten fold.

* * *

The room was gorgeous. It was spacious, with a grand, white chandelier hanging from its high ceiling, its bright crystals sparkling against the light. The walls were adorned with various paintings, and the floor was composed of many glossy wooden planks graced by furniture of the same expensive nature. She looked down and realized that what she was standing on was not a carpet, but a very ornate rug, its pattern beautiful and intricate. She almost felt guilty for standing on it with her shoes on. Why did his home have to be so lovely? She should have figured that he could afford it—he was a very successful criminal, after all. However, she found herself having a great difficulty admiring the room for very long, because her current predicament flooded back to her like a punch in the gut. Two-Face's steady voice only furthered her anxiety.

"We're pretty far underground," he said. "But I don't really notice when I'm down here. By the way, I never caught your name…" She could feel him walking towards her, and she debated whether she wanted to look up or not. Half of her was terrified of seeing him in clear light, while the other half was desperately curious to see the face that regularly struck fear into the citizens of Gotham. She tempted herself to look at him clearly for the very first time. She lifted her gaze to meet his own, and her breath caught in her throat.

It was surreal, to be seeing this man with her own two eyes. On his right, she saw Harvey Dent, the young, handsome man who had once been a major threat to the various crime lords and crooks of Gotham City. His smooth, dark brown hair matched the color of his eye, which looked so intense that she was almost sure she would have blushed if it weren't for the other side of his face.

The features on his left were so terrifyingly grotesque that she found herself averting her gaze back towards the carpet. His flesh was red, raw, and scarred beyond belief. The worst part of it to her, however, was the state of his eye. It bulged out unnaturally from its burned socket, the same dark hue of his other pupil inhabiting it. She couldn't recall much more detail, because her eyes were very reluctant to look up again. She heard him sigh warily before he spoke once more.

"I can tell that you're not going to talk to me, and I suppose I really can't blame you for that." Out of her peripheral vision, she saw him walk towards a door connected to the room they were in, and he turned the knob. "This will be your room from now on. I'm afraid I don't have any clothes for you to sleep in tonight, but I'll make sure someone picks up your things from your home tomorrow."

Her things. So this was it. She was going to be living with the infamous Two-Face, far underground, with no means of escape. She began to feel her knees shake, and she wondered how she had ever ended up there in the first place. The rest of the night seemed like a blur to her now that she was stuck there, her whole life flipped upside down. She willed herself to speak, but still didn't will herself to look back up into the man's eyes.

"Why are you keeping me here?" She asked, her voice trembling on every word. She was on the brink of tears. When wasn't she, these days?

"So I don't get my ass thrown in jail, that's why," she heard from behind her. She jumped. She completely forgot that Skelter was there. She was too preoccupied with her new living arrangements to even consider the fact that he may just be staying there, too. Is that what accomplices do? Live in their bosses' hideouts? The idea made her feel even more sick to her stomach.

"We can't let it slip that he opened the lock to my cell. His services are too valuable, what with him working in Arkham, and I can't take any risks." Two-Face said matter-of-factly as he walked away from her room. "Besides, you know my location, so letting you go now is definitely out of the question."

With every reminder of her incapacitation, she became increasingly dizzier and dizzier. She couldn't be held there. She wouldn't be. She clenched her fists and decided that her last option would be to hold her hands together and beg.

"Why can't you just let me off with a warning?" she pleaded helplessly. She decided to look at him again for added effect, and she couldn't help but wince as his disfigured eye rested on her. "I promise I won't say anything. Threaten to kill me if I do, I don't care… just please, let me go!" Her voice broke on the last word. She felt stinging tears pool beneath her eyes, but she refused look away from him.

She felt a hand grab her shoulder, and Skelter's deep, slimy voice made her want to retch. "Ol' Two-face doesn't want you to go because he hasn't had a lady down here in a long time." He rubbed her arm significantly, and it took all her effort to prevent herself from elbowing him in the stomach. "I really can't blame him… with a girl like you stumbling down in front of hi-"

"Enough," Two-face said sternly, his gaze now directed at the man behind her. "Don't you think it's about time you go home? " Genevieve felt the heavy weight on her shoulders lighten ever so slightly. At least that pig wouldn't be around.

Skelter let go of her shoulders and walked towards Two-Face, obviously angry. "What about my cash? Did you think I would do all of this for nothing?"

Two-Face calmly pulled the coin out of his pocket and held it between his fingers, examining it idly as he spoke. "You'll get your money, just not tonight. Now go home and take your trash with you."

Skelter's mouth was held agape, his eyes furious. He gave the man one long look before he stalked towards the door, and before he walked through, he turned to look at her again without reserve. She shivered, and he slammed the expensive wood behind him.

Two-Face turned his gaze away from the door and resorted to looking at her instead. The silence in the room was awkward, and she really didn't know what to do next. She wanted to lock herself into the room he had offered her, but she couldn't will herself to move while he was in her presence.

"I didn't get an answer earlier, " he said, still holding the coin in his hand. "If you're going to be staying here, I'd like to at least know what to call you." There was kindness in his eyes, and it confused her. What was wrong with this man? On one hand he was holding her hostage, cruelly keeping her away from her own life and forcing her into his without hesitation. On the other, however, he seemed polite, calm, and obviously didn't approve when his henchmen ogled her. This man was an enigma, and if it weren't for her current predicament, she would be more than willing to explore his unorthodox personalities.

She tried her best to wipe her eye nonchalantly, before deciding to humor him. She wasn't sure how long his hospitality was going to last, after all.

"Genevieve," she said quietly.

"Now that's a name you don't hear everyday," he said. He smiled, and it disconcerted her deeply. He gave her one nod towards her bedroom, and he walked across the room to another door, shutting it behind him. She only assumed that the room was where he slept, and the thought bothered her. Under the same roof as Two-Face, she was expected to sleep. As she stood there, now alone, she realized that slumber wasn't going to reach her any time soon.


	8. A Fancy Bedroom

Genevieve looked up at the canopied roof of the extravagant bed, its cool sheets soft and inviting beneath her drained body. She didn't bother undressing like she normally would before she went to sleep. She even kept her jacket on, which proved to be quite hot and uncomfortable in the locked room. She didn't care. She didn't even think of exploring the built-in bathroom that was attached to the magnificent room, because she had no desire whatsoever to shower. She didn't feel like doing anything at all.

She turned on the bed fitfully, a hard burst of frustration sending spasms down her body. How was she expected to sleep when everything about her life was thrown outside the window in one fell swoop? She marveled at the fact that the man could so calmly expect her to rest after the drastic life change he forced upon her. He had absolutely no idea of what he was putting her through. She wanted to scream, she wanted to writhe, but her exhausted body ached for sleep, and her mind refused to oblige. What would happen tomorrow? And the day after that? She had no idea what she was supposed to do while trapped in his underground prison, and she dearly hoped that he didn't already have plans for her. What if what Skelter hinted at was true? What if Two-Face really did keep her around for his own selfish, perverse reasons?

She shook that thought. As strange as it was for her to come to this conclusion, he didn't seem like the type. He was such a … gentleman. The word caused her to snort in distaste. No murderer is a gentleman.

She sighed and hugged the enormous down pillow against her chest. She would just stay inside of the room and refuse to acknowledge his existence. She didn't want to deal with her harsh realities by seeing him, hearing him, or even setting her foot outside of the room. She just prayed with all of her heart that the police would come storming down in the middle of the night and rescue her from this perpetual nightmare.

Her eyelids became heavy, and her exhaustion finally got the best of her. She dearly hoped that when she woke up the next day, she would be back at her home in Opal City with her aunt, waking up in the little violet bed that was always there when she needed it.

* * *

Genevieve's eyes opened slowly, and she was immediately confused. Why was she so sweaty, and why was she sleeping in this incredibly fancy room? She sat up in her sleepy haze and wondered if she had someone gotten drunk and ended up in some rich guy's bed due to a lapse in judgement. She shook her head. The fact that she was fully clothed didn't provide support for that explanation. Plus, she didn't drink. She was momentarily relieved in her morning stupor before the heavy truth hit her all at once like a wrecking ball.

She groaned and fell onto her back with a light thud.

She turned her head miserably to check the time on the expensive looking digital clock placed on the even more expensive looking nightstand. 2:13 PM. She couldn't remember the last time she had ever slept in that late, and she couldn't ever remember doing so without being happy and carefree. Obviously, this time was an exception, and she had a feeling all of her mornings would feel the same regardless of how late or early she opened her eyes.

As much as her mind told her to stay put on the massive bed, her stiff body cried out for movement. She sluggishly threw herself off of the double mattresses and landed on her shoed feet, reaching down to the floor to stretch out her body. She took her time as she stretched out all of her limbs, her back, and even her fingers. Time meant nothing here, and she might as well spend it as much as she could doing whatever task presented itself. She was still determined to never leave the room.

Once she finished stretching out as much as her body allowed, she took the opportunity to examine the room around her. She flicked on the lights, dearly wishing there was a window to let in some sunlight. She figured that's why she had slept so late—she usually relied on natural light to alert her out of her slumber.

She felt a lurch in her stomach and let out an exasperated sigh when the realization dawned on her. She was underground—there was no natural light.

She warily looked around the room, her eyebrows raised critically. It certainly wasn't lacking in size, that was for sure. She paused as she took notice of a very tall, full-length mirror that was stationary against the wall, and she began to walk towards it, a little afraid to see her appearance.

Her hair was shiny, disheveled, and utterly curly. There were deep bags beneath her tired blue eyes, and her lips were creased pathetically at the corners. In that moment when she saw herself, the reality of her situation only hit her harder, and she sunk to the floor hopelessly in front of the mirror. She was miserable—and she smelled. She couldn't think of a worse position to be in, and she thanked all that was holy that her room at least had a bathroom. She wouldn't know what to do if she was forced to walk out that door. She may be stubborn, but there was no chance in Hell that she would ignore nature's call or a good therapeutic shower just because of that bastard.

After a good five minutes of depressed contemplation, Genevieve lifted herself from the floor and headed towards the bathroom, finally succumbing to the sweat that stuck to her body sickeningly. The bathroom was just as glamorous as the bedroom, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the glossy white marble of the shower.

After she finished undressing with much hesitation, she climbed into the shower and turned the knob with her tired fingers. She let the warm water rain onto her face, and she momentarily let her worries wash away from her, allowing the steam to relax her muscles and cleanse her of her physical discomfort. However, her moment of peace was cut short when her mind began to work again. She cringed against the water when the thought occurred to her that he was sharing _this_ house with her, _this _plumbing, _this_ water. She quickly turned off the faucet and climbed out, scouring around for some spare towels. If she couldn't find any, she would be glad to use the sheets. She walked out of the bathroom, sopping wet, squeezing the moisture out of her hair without shame. She really had no desire to maintain the room she was being caged in, and she would gladly drip all over the expensive carpet without a second thought.

After searching a bit more, she found a stack of fluffy towels within a drawer and decided begrudgingly to dry herself the old-fashioned way. Once she finished absorbing all of the moisture off of her nude body, she tossed the towels aside. Great. Now she was caged without a fresh set of clothes.

She then heard a loud knock on the door, and she nearly jumped two feet into the air. She desperately grabbed for the discarded wet towels, draped them over her exposed body, and ran behind her bed. Her in-your-face attitude quickly wore off the moment she was faced with her fears.

"Genevieve?" She heard the deep, familiar voice call from behind the door. It was extremely strange hearing Two-Face say her name. It seemed too… friendly. " I have your clothes… I figured that you might want them since you just showered."

"_You think? "_ she thought bitterly. She wanted him to stop being so damn hospitable. She almost wanted him to scream at her so all of this would make more sense.

After a few moments of silence, she heard a box hitting the floor softly outside of the room. "I'll leave them out here," was all he said. She heard the noise of his shoes hitting the wooden floor as he walked away, leaving her to kneel behind the bed, burritoed in towels, and feeling ridiculous. She did want those clothes, but she didn't want to go out to get them. She'd just wait a few minutes, peek out the door, and grab them as fast as she could.

She didn't know how she was going to survive the rest of the day.


	9. A Yummy Plate of Pancakes

It was only a few hours later of mindless contemplation and utter emptiness when she heard another knock on the door. She sat upright on the bed, clothed in a fresh pair of pants and a t-shirt, and listened to what Two-Face had to say. What was he going to do now, bring her a mint for her pillow?

"There's dinner ready," he called out. "You have to be hungry. You've been in there without food for hours." The moment he said the word 'dinner' her stomach began to grumble audibly. She was starving, and she wished she hadn't noticed it before now. What was she supposed to do about it, though? Go outside in her socks and raid his refrigerator?

"I promise I won't hurt you," he said. She could tell he was doing his best to sound reassuring. "You don't have to eat with me. Just eat." That took her by surprise, much like everything else he said since she first met him. She couldn't imagine why this man cared whether she wasted away or not, and she wondered why he had the courtesy of respecting her privacy. There was something about his voice that almost made her want to accept the food, but she wouldn't sway. Then her stomach grumbled again.

"Just leave it outside," she snapped. Damage control. If she had to eat, she would—but she wouldn't resort to opening the door for him.

"Okay, I think we can both live with that," he said lightheartedly before walking away to get her food. She sat there, dumbfounded, but her hungry stomach kept her from hiding behind her bed again. She would do the same thing as before—wait a few minutes, then dart her hand out the door. This method was fail proof, and it would save her from the terror and awkwardness.

She heard him walk back towards her door, and he knocked more quietly this time. "Aren't you going to come out to get it?" he dared. Nice try, Two-Face.

"Just leave it outside," she repeated again, wondering if he would get the extremely obvious picture. He sighed. She really began to enjoy the sound.

"If that's what you want," he said, his voice lightly defeated. She heard the clink of a plate, and heard him walk away yet again.

She could smell the warm food from inside her room, and the smell was agonizingly tantalizing. She sat there, her leg jumping anxiously as she waited another five minutes, making sure he was nowhere near when she made a grab for it. When she felt that she had waited a sufficient amount of time, she crept toward the door and placed her hand on the knob, ducking down so she could quickly and efficiently grab the plate. She opened the door, and to her stomach's delight, saw a plate of delicious looking pancakes. The smell hit her full force, and she reached for the dish with a relieved hand.

"I hope you like them. I haven't cooked anything myself in a very long time."

Genevieve nearly jumped out of her skin and let out a small scream. Two-Face laughed, and her annoyance dominated her fear for a second. She looked up to glare at the man. Then her fear came back. She smiled at him awkwardly and lifted the plate. "Thank you," she mumbled quietly. She didn't look at him again and shut the door behind her.

She cringed heavily.

* * *

Genevieve fiddled with her fingers absentmindedly as the hours passed, each minute seeming longer and more depressing than the previous. She had no idea how she could possibly survive another day in this room. She felt as if every second was a stinging waste of her life, and she contemplated what she would have been doing at that moment if it weren't for her imprisonment. For all she knew, she could have been talking to her first legitimate patient right now, easing their fears, and helping them come to terms with the innermost workings of their complex, fascinating minds. She sighed. Who was she kidding? It was a weekend. She'd probably be in her apartment, sitting on the sofa, and watching her small, static-ridden T.V. to pass the time. Maybe this wasn't such a drastic change in lifestyle, after all.

She hugged the pillow close to her chest and buried her face in its soft case. Why wasn't there anything in her room but fancy sheets and furniture? She would give anything to have a nice book. She could sit there, read, and let her imagination take her away from all of the pain, fear, and, most importantly at that particular moment, intense boredom. She grumbled. He would probably give her a book if she asked for one.

She still couldn't understand why he was so eager to take care of her. She would think that most evil crime bosses would be too busy, and, well, _evil_ to deal with some girl who's taking up a room in their fancy underground lair. And, if they were to give said girl attention, she would also think that they would have taken advantage of her by now.

She snorted audibly. Maybe she just didn't appeal to the villainous type. She thought of Skelter, crinkled her nose, then quickly brushed away that thought.

The thing that bothered her the most about Two-Face was that he was just so… nice. She glanced at the empty, syrup crusted plate that rested on the edge of her bed. She couldn't help but bask in the memory of those delicious pancakes, but cringe at how they came into her possession. When he snuck up on her during her failed attempt at stealthiness, she couldn't help but be reduced to a stammering, timid mess. She knew that her usual fear for her well-being came into play, but something else about their little exchange made her feel strange, almost confused. The way he had surprised her so whimsically… she almost wanted to tease him back for a moment. Just a moment, though. His dramatically disturbing face often put her into check in the blink of an eye, and she was instantly reminded of what a terrible thing he was doing to her. Even acknowledging the man's odd kindness alone felt wrong.

Then why did she blush whenever she thought of his laugh?

She groaned and rolled onto her back. She was just going coconuts in the room, and she knew it. She was sure that anyone would seem appealing right now, especially if you were forced to be a hermit.

She sat up with a start as she heard the door to the room open with an unnerving creek. She looked up and gasped.

She devastatingly took that thought back.


	10. A Revolting Visit

"Hey there, princess. Are you liking your big, fancy bed?" the man's gravelly voice rumbled lecherously.

Genevieve tensed. What the hell was Skelter doing back here? And why was he in her room? Her eyes went wide, and she took a mental note of the heavy lamp that was next to her on the bedside table. Even though she hadn't met too much trouble in Gotham before her kidnapping, she always put herself into the mindset that she could very well be attacked at any moment. While she almost always had pepper spray on hand, she also trained herself to be aware of anything in a room that could be used for a good bludgeoning.

She tried to be assertive, but, as usual, she failed pathetically. She sat there frozen, terrified of what this man would do next. Why had Two-Face let him just stroll into her bedroom after all of his kind intentions? She knew that he was aware of how uncomfortable he made her, and she was absolutely sure that he knew that Skelter's "flirtatious" intentions wouldn't lead to roses and a dinner for two. He should've known not to let this man anywhere near her. Maybe he really didn't care.

Skelter sidled towards the edge of the bed and sat on it, the casual action literally making her feel sick.

"Y'know, I don't like the way you've been treating me," he said, his voice mocking hurt. "A guy wants to look at a girl, they should take it as a compliment. But for some reason you just keep fighting it." He placed a hand on her leg, and she jumped back. He laughed, and she wanted to die. She knew it would only be a matter of time before a time like this would present itself, and she thought she would be ready for it. She wasn't, of course, and she couldn't help but cower within the shadow of the overpowering, much bigger man. She wanted to scream, she wanted to break his skull open with the lamp, but she wasn't sure what he'd do if her attempts failed. Her fear caused her to keep her mouth shut, and she couldn't prevent herself from dumbly looking at him with her huge, terrified eyes. She hated herself for it, but she just couldn't bring herself to move. She was too afraid.

"Don't be afraid of me," he said in a sickeningly sweet voice, "I'll make your stay here a lot more enjoyable." He leaned in towards her on the bed, and that's when her defense mode clicked on in full gear. She made a grab for the lamp next to her, and he growled angrily before grabbing her arms roughly with his strong, calloused fingers. She yelled hopelessly as the lamp fell from her grasp, and the loud, painful noise of the porcelain shattering on the floor filled her with dread. She screamed at the top of her lungs as Skelter wrestled her down onto the mattress, pinning her arms down at her sides with enough force to bruise her. He pressed a thick hand onto her mouth in order to silence her, and she bit his palm as hard as she could. He swore, and slapped her hard across the face, his hand shoving painfully against her lips once more. She whimpered, tears already staining her cheeks, her muffled screams now turning into desperate cries.

"I forgot to ask you," he began while quickly removing his belt with his free hand. She shut her eyes, and she kicked her legs helplessly beneath the man to no avail.

"Just how did you like your time with The Joker? I mean, I knew you were an attractive little thing, but who knew that _he'd_ even want to get a piece of this," he slapped her thigh, and intense fury filled her alongside with her terror. So he was behind that file mix-up. He was the one who put her through that Hell. He was the one who made her hate her life.

Her anger was quickly replaced by pure terror as he yanked her pants down, the feel of the disgusting warmth from his body against her flesh making her want to vomit. This was it. Skelter would finally have his way with her, and she would be left to lie there, broken and violated. Her sobs continued working in full force, and she shut her eyes as his fingers pried beneath the hem of her underpants.

Her eyes snapped open immediately as she felt the heavy weight of him leave her body. She looked up in confusion, and she heard the man grunt loudly, followed by a heavy thud on the ground. She turned her head abruptly towards the directions the sounds came from, and she felt as if her heart had stopped.

There, standing above the staggering body of Skelter, was Two-Face, his sleeve rolled up, and his eyes furious. He looked down at the man before him and kicked him hard in the gut, resulting in another resounding groan from the man.

"I don't ever," Two-Face began, his voice dripping with venom, "_ever_, want to see you in here again. I don't deal with rapists, and don't think for a moment that _he_ does either."

Genevieve remained still on the bed, too overwhelmed and confused to move yet again. He? Who was he? The thought quickly left her however, because Two-Face was frightening, truly frightening when he was angry. His eyes were dark, and his expression was contorted into something of pure fury. He looked murderous. But what frightened her even more than that was that she was grateful, utterly grateful that he was here with her.

Skelter groaned again, and Two-Face spoke with a new voice. His tone took on a deep, guttural, sinister sound, and she couldn't help but press herself against the headboard in fear.

"Get up," he growled darkly to the man at his feet. He didn't oblige, probably because he was still recovering from the heavy blow to his gut.

"I SAID GET UP!" he screamed. She jumped, horrified. She knew this side of him was there, but it didn't make experiencing it any less frightening. Her mouth was held agape as she saw him pull the coin out of his pocket. She knew what would happen next.

Two-Face lifted the man off of the floor with surprising strength, and Skelter writhed against his hold. He dragged him outside of the open door, leaving her to sit there, numb.

It was only a few moments before she heard the loud bang, and she knew it was over.

Two-Face came back into the room, his expression utterly serious. She didn't even see his deformed side anymore. All she saw was the pain in his expression, and she felt her chest began to heave.

"He's gone now," was all he said.

Genevieve couldn't stop herself from running from the bed and into his arms, her sobs leaving wet spots on his chest.


	11. A Hopeless Prayer

Genevieve shivered convulsively and pulled the thick jacket around her chest tightly. She couldn't remember the last time she actually shivered from the cold rather than fear, and it was soothing, in a way, to be able to control her warmth. She only wished she could do the same for her nerves.

The wide, wooden planks creaked tiredly beneath her tennis shoes, and she concentrated a bit too intently on the noise. She wouldn't let him intimidate her. The only reason she had come out here with him was because the thought of being left alone in his _lair_, or whatever he liked to call it, terrified her beyond belief. She never wanted to set foot into her room again, let alone that building entirely. Now, walking beside him at a considerable five foot distance, she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake when running to him for comfort.

They walked silently, and she began to open her ears up to her surroundings. She heard the sinister, yet strangely relaxing noise of waves crashing against the pier's massive wooden beams, and she let the current wash away any thought that had to do with the task at hand. She jumped slightly as she heard the noise of other footsteps behind her, and she glanced uneasily over her shoulder. She saw two men carrying something between them in what appeared to be a large, black bag, and the sight gave her a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She closed the gap between her and Two-Face by three feet. She couldn't help it.

"Those men work for me," he said quietly, not turning his head to look at her as they walked. "You don't have to worry. I made it perfectly clear to them how that body got into that bag."

Her stomach dropped at the memory, and she hugged her arms. She tried to pass the action as a response to the cold night air, but he didn't seem to fall for it.

"Genevieve," he began. His deep voice was completely seriously as he stopped in his tracks. It was incredibly strange hearing him say her name that way. The utter seriousness of his tone sent something coursing through her body, and she wasn't exactly sure what it was. He turned to face her, and she flinched slightly, still not completely used to the direct sight of him. The men behind them stopped as well, and he turned his head towards them.

"Go ahead. We'll be here," he said to the men. They grunted as they dropped the body onto the creaky planks with a morbid thud. They began to drag the heavy bag on the floor, and then passed her and Two-Face silently. As she watched them go, she heard his voice again, and her eyes darted immediately toward his face.

"Genevieve," he repeated. His good eye was gazing at her with a deep intensity, and it reminded her of the day she first laid eyes on him. She shuddered, and her hands immediately occupied themselves by rubbing her jacketed arms.

"This man, this… this perverted _bastard_ tried to rape you," he gestured vacantly towards the bag dragged by the two men, and his voice was filled with nothing but disgust. She looked down. She didn't need to be reminded. "I understand why what I did to him bothers you, but don't you see? This is what you should want, Genevieve. He got exactly what was coming to him—a bullet in his skull."

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. She felt like what he was saying was right, and the fact alone scared her. He had killed a man. For her. She would be lying to herself if she thought she wasn't relieved, but there was something so twisted about this entire exchange that she couldn't stop trembling. She was not supposed to feel relief. She was supposed to be furious for being thrust into this _hell_ against her own will, regardless of what further dangers she had managed to avoid. She remained silent in the sudden fury that topped her despair, and through her peripheral vision, she saw him look down at her in sympathy. She bit her lip, entirely frustrated. How can he have the nerve to even display any sign of compassion? If he really, truly felt sorry for her, why didn't he just let her go? Despite her lingering fear of the man, her emotions took hold of her best judgment. She looked straight into his eyes, only flinching a little when she caught direct sight of his mutilated half.

"Why…" Genevieve began, as hot, angry tears began to stream down her eyes, "do you care? Why do you care if I'm raped? Why do you care if I'm fed? Why do you care if I'm _comfortable?_" Her words were filled with venom, and she saw his eyes widen from surprise. Her inner voice was urging her to stop, but her anger only drove her to continue without fear of the effect of her words. Her voice escalated until she was practically yelling, the tears running messily down her face and onto the floor. "You took everything away from me! My family, my career, my _life_! And you expect me to… to…" she gasped, finally comprehending the full extent of her words. She shielded her face as the tears slipped through her fingers, beginning to wail in complete misery and terror. She was going to die here. She was going to die in his world, whether someone kills her or she does it herself. She fell onto the rotting planks and continued to cry hysterically, inwardly begging to wake up to find herself in her aunt's home.

She laid there for what felt to her like hours until her wild sobs denigrated into gasps and whimpers. Everything around her was silent, and she wondered if her wish had come true. She prayed that she had just fallen out of her bed and onto her aunt's hardwood floors after a long, vivid nightmare. She prayed that the cold, biting air she felt was just the malfunctioning air conditioner that sometimes kept her shivering at night. She prayed that the hesitant footsteps that were making their way toward her were those of her beloved aunt's, who was coming to comfort her after her horrible, lucid dream. She clasped her hands tightly together and prayed with all of her might that all of these things were true, and that she was about to hear a warm, familiar voice telling her that everything was going to be alright. She instead heard a whisper, and her chest tightened.

"Genevieve… I'm so, so sorry..." The voice was wracked with guilt, and she came crashing back to reality.


End file.
